Like A Glove
by FandomlyYours
Summary: Natasha's on a mission, which is nothing new. She's in the midst of disaster, which is nothing new. Her partner, Clint, endangers himself to save her, which is also nothing new. But the discussion in the aftermath is something she's not used to dealing with. Two-shot Clintasha.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: If you're waiting for the next part of Tiny Avengers, I'm really sorry! It ****_will_**** be up, I swear. I've just hit a little block. So in the meanwhile, have some Clintasha. Part 1 of possibly 2. x**

* * *

The streets are alive with death and destruction. Explosions fill the city and screams fill the air. The sky is a dark, almost opaque reddish-brown and there is smoke everywhere. Civilians stumble for shelter while enemy troops storm the place, trampling everything. In a word, it is hell.

And it's nothing new for Natasha Romanoff.

She is using two pistols at once, firing with equal skill with both hands. One bang and two enemies are down, one shot from each hand. Someone attempts to sneak up on her and she spins at once, knocking them down with the barrel of her gun.

She turns to her right, aiming for a large man who is barreling foolishly at her, when she is knocked off her feet and shoved behind a nearby overturned car. She whips around.

"Clint, what are you doing? I was- Clint?" Her partner is down, his face contorted in pain. She looks up to see the wicked-faced man aiming again.

Bam! And he is tumbling over the edge.

She turns back to her partner. "Clint? Clint! Oh, God," she breathes, seeing the dark red patch spreading over the archer's chest. "Fury! Agent Barton's been hit. He's hurt, bad."

"A medical team is heading over there now. Keep him sheltered, but get back into the fight." A crackly voice sounds over her communication device.

"Screw the fight, Fury, I am so not moving. Clint, just hang on."

Clint looks up at her weakly, mumbling, "Don't worry 'bout me, Nat, 'm fine."

"Like hell you are." She shoots someone behind her without looking. Looking up, she sees the first aid team hurrying over. "Thank God." She moves back, letting them do their thing. One of them looks up at her and purses his lips before they load Clint onto a stretcher and rush him off.

Natasha's heart drops into her boots, and she barely notices as somebody tries to club her over the head. She isn't paying attention as she punches him so hard that he crashes into the ground several meters away. She isn't watching as she shoots everything in sight, screaming in rage. And she isn't listening as Fury shouts at her to get back into form while she sprints after the medical team, still shooting whoever got into her way.

"Nat."

"Why did you take that bullet, Clint? It was stupid."

"It was aimed at you," he whispers. "That's reason enough."

Natasha stops pacing. She turns to face him. "What drugs have they got you on?"

Clint manages a weak smirk. "Dunno. Too drugged up to remember."

She rolls her eyes at him, but grows serious. "Clint... Really. Why?"

"I've told you the truth, Nat." Clint looks up at her, and she knows he isn't kidding. "You're the best partner I could ask for." He struggles to sit up and winces.

She gently pushes him down again. "I know that," she says with just a hint of good-humoured arrogance. "I don't think you do, though. You obviously didn't have enough faith in me to let me deal with the bullet."

"Nat, you didn't see it." He grins at her obnoxiously and she stops herself from punching him. "And I wasn't questioning your skills. I'd be dead if I did... And I wouldn't need a bullet from the bad guy for that." He shakes his head. "No, I mean you're the best partner I could have out of work. You're all I have, Nat, and you're enough for me..." he finishes with a mumble, his eyes flickering.

She doesn't know how to respond.

He waits. When she doesn't say anything, he continues. "I really care about you, Natasha. I didn't used to understand in what way I cared about you. I've wondered if it was love... But I wasn't sure.

"But today I knew. When I saw the bullet. I knew."

She has stiffened.

"I think I love you, Natasha Romanoff. I think I've loved you for a while."

She finds her voice and says what is possibly the least sensitive thing ever. "Is that the drugs talking?"

He laughs. "The sappiness probably is. But the message is the same."

She stares at him.

"I..." She stops and looks at him hopelessly.

He drops his gaze dejectedly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I think I might love you too." She whispers the words, unsure if she wants him to hear.

His head snaps up so fast that he groans and grabs his bandaged chest. She realises that he would have heard her from the other side of the world.

"Whaat?" he asks disbelievingly.

She looks at him shyly. "I... Well, for a while now, I guess. Conflicted feelings... I wasn't sure. I never really knew."

He doesn't look away from her.

"You trusted me." Her gaze is just as unwavering as his. "When nobody else did. That's when I started to trust you. Just a bit.

"The missions... They helped. Getting to know you; not really your personality, but the way you do things. Even the way you fight. It helped me identify with you. I started to sort of align myself with you, something I'd never done before. You did it too, I think. And I think it was because we were always, well... The perfect fit, I guess. We just worked. Just fit snugly together like a glove.

"Then after the missions, on our days off. Still hanging around you, and I never knew why. You were such a jackass sometimes, too."

He laughs.

"That's when I started really trusting you. More than that. Counting you as a friend. I've never really had a friend.

"I don't know when it turned to love. I don't even know if it has. I don't know what love feels like. Maybe this isn't love. Maybe it's just shock. It could be indigestion and I wouldn't know."

He laughs again.

"I think it's love, though. But I never knew. Not consciously, anyway. Maybe I always did, deep down..."

A doctor comes in suddenly and the flow of conversation stops. The doctor smiles apologetically. "Sorry, kids. Chat time's over. I'm gonna give you some drugs to pull you under, okay, Clint?"

"No, absolutely not!" Clint protests. "Deep and meaningful conversation about feelings happening, dude! Natasha's opening up! This is a moment for the history books! Mmf!" His last phrase is muffled as Natasha claps a hand over his mouth and smiles sweetly at the doctor.

"Go ahead, doctor. Ouch!" she yelps as Clint bites her finger. She glares at him, and he grins at her mischievously.

The doctor smiles a puzzled smile and gives Clint a quick injection. "You're welcome to stay, miss, but this one's not gonna be all that interesting." He jerks his head at Clint, grins at them and leaves.

Clint's eyes ate getting heavy and he mumbles, "Natasha."

"Mm."

"Hold my hand."

"What are you, five?" She clucks in disapproval, but grasps his hand nevertheless.

"Natasha..."

"Mm?"

"If... If I'd asked you to marry me, would you have said yes?" It's barely legible this time, trailing into a muffled mess, but she hears, and she freezes.

"Natasha?" he asks, and she can tell he's struggling not to go under. Not yet.

She pauses. She thinks about all their arguments, all their fights. She thinks about the times they laughed together and played like little children. She remembers all the missions when she had his back and he had hers. She remembers the times they never speak of, the times when one of them falls apart and the other one has had to put them together. She thinks, and she answers.

"Yes."

She's not sure if he hears because he's just about succumbed, but his face breaks into a big, sleepy smile, and she realises that once again, he might have been a hundred meters under water and he would have heard her. And she realises that he always has heard her, because he always listens.


	2. Chapter 2

She had watched him go under.  
He hadn't come back up.  
It was the drugs. Natasha had seen them administered, watched the doctor inject him. He'd succumbed to sleep, but not before asking her something. Something that changed her.  
_"If.. If I'd asked you to marry me, would you have said yes?"_  
She'd told him yes, and he'd smiled hugely as he closed his eyes.  
A day later, she'd gone back to see him.  
The same doctor as before had come up to her, his eyes sombre. He told her that something had gone wrong, and Clint hadn't woken up.  
She doesn't remember much of what happened. In a trance, she'd swung her arm at the doctor, who went down. She'd shouted obscenities in Russian at the hospital staff as security restrained her.  
She comes back the next day and demands quietly but firmly to see him.  
They let her in reluctantly, warning her to be careful.  
She walks in, feeling oddly light, as though her body knew that it would take much to push her over the edge. As though her brain knew how unstable she was, and warned the rest of the body to tread carefully.  
She walks in, and she stops.  
He looks so small.  
She's scared of how vulnerable he appears. This isn't her partner. This isn't the man who joked with her, or held her when she cried (and she only ever cried in front of him). This isn't the man whose eyes blazed with fire in the rage of war.  
This isn't Clint Barton.  
But it is. And she's scared of him.  
_I did this_, she thinks, and a surge of something worse than guilt courses through her. _My bullet. Aimed for me. My fault. My fault._  
Clint's breaths are shallow.  
_Myfaultmyfaultmyfault..._  
She sits there all day, looking at him. Vulnerable, small... But more peaceful than she's seen him in a long time. Heaven knows he needed the sleep. Maybe that's the only reason he hasn't woken up yet. Maybe he's just asleep. That's what she tells herself to stop the overwhelming guilt from drowning her.  
Night falls, and the hospital staff enter. They have to drag her out as she sobs and screams protests at them. She begs and she pleads, she threatens and she bargains, but still they drag her out and she breaks down into tears as they pull her out the door.  
She comes back the next day, and every day after that.  
Fury tries to reason with her, but she swears at him and stalks back to the hospital. None of the other Avengers can touch her or even talk to her without her turning and hissing at them.  
She knows they don't understand why she's so unhappy. But she does, clear as day. She knows it's not just because she loves him, although she does. But Natasha Romanoff is cold and calculating. She can handle a loss, even a great one. Or at least, she can hide it.  
But this one is her own fault.  
She despises herself.  
It's her fault, she tells herself. Her fault that the man she loves lies motionless.  
She goes back to the hospital for the fifth day in a row.  
He still hasn't stirred.  
She stays again. All day. Just sitting. Not talking, not touching. Just looking at him.  
A tear slips down her cheek.  
Night falls again, and she prepares to be talked out of the room.  
A doctor comes in. The one she punched out.  
"You can stay tonight," he says quietly.  
"Just let me stay for another minute- What?"  
He smiles, a small smile. "You can stay tonight. We trust you."  
She looks startled, but manages a smile back. A genuine one. "Thank you," she says, and means it. "I'm sorry for hitting you," she adds. "You didn't deserve that."  
He shrugs. "Don't sweat it." He nods at her and leaves, and she sees the lights go off outside of the room.  
She looks at Clint. "Hear that, Clint? You're- You're stuck with me tonight."  
He doesn't say anything, of course. She thinks he's improved. He looks stronger, more like he's simply asleep rather than... Well, he looks better.  
She hesitates. Slowly, she lifts up one corner of the blanket and slides in. She cuddles up to him and mumbles, "G'night, Clint..." And she falls asleep.

She wakes to his fingers in her hair.  
She looks up, her face directly under his.  
He grins at her tiredly, eyes still slightly clouded with sleep. "Morning, gorgeous," he mumbles cheekily.  
She sits up so fast that she squeaks and falls off the bed.  
While he's chuckling at her, she scrambles up, distinctly ruffled. "You're awake," she says dazedly.  
He rolls his eyes at her. "Nah. Still asleep, Nat."  
She pokes her tongue out at him and goes to tell the hospital staff.  
Clint stops her. "How long was I out?"  
"Five days." She hesitates. "Why did you choose now to wake up?"  
Clint shrugs, or shrugs as much as he can all wrapped up in a bandage and tucked in bed. "Dunno. Felt a big, warm lump on my side. My brain cleared a little then because I figured it was you, I guess. I mean, who else would it be? Figured you must've been desperate to climb into bed with me." He smirks as she glares at him. "Guess my thought process improved once I felt you there. Enough to wake me up. I dunno. I'm no scientist."  
She doesn't quite know what to say, so she goes back and kisses him on the cheek. "Welcome back, Clint."

"NATASHA!"  
"FOR GOD'S SAKE, CLINT, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?"  
"WHERE ON EARTH ARE MY SOCKS?"  
"How the bloody hell should I know?" she mutters. She stalks over to the room he's shouting from. "Clint, honestly, you should really- What are you wearing?"  
He's bent over in his sock drawer, presumably looking for socks. She's used to this; he's been doing almost exactly this since they started spending more and more time in Clint's apartment. The difference was that he was wearing a suit.  
Clint reaches to the very back of the drawer and grasps something. "Gotcha!" he says. He turns around and walks up to Natasha.  
Natasha freezes as he sees what's in his hand.  
Clint gets down on one knee.  
Natasha starts to say, "Oh my God.."  
Clint grins. "Nat, we're basically living together now and we've know each other for so long... You know I'd do anything for you." He gestures at his chest, where a bandage is still wrapped, albeit smaller than it had been a month ago.  
"Natasha Romanoff, I love you. Marry me?" He cracks open the little velvet box to reveal a gold band with many small diamonds studded along its length.  
Natasha's eyes are wide and and her mouth is open. She finds her voice. "I- When you semi-proposed that time when you were drugged and injured, I... I didn't think you were really serious."  
Clint waits nervously, fidgeting with the box.  
Natasha squats down to sit on her knees so she's eye level with Clint. "Yes," she breathes. "I'll marry you." She leans forward and kisses him softly.  
Clint's face breaks into a huge, goofy smile, and he fights to keep his cool.  
"Really?" The word slips out before he can stop it and he claps his hands to his mouth.  
Natasha laughs at him, a little giddy. "Yeah, Clint, really."  
"Brilliant!" He looks like a small child again, she reflects with a twinge of happy nostalgia. "Do you like the ring?" he asks her, uncertainty crossing his face. "I mean, the diamonds aren't huge, but I thought you'd want something practical, so there aren't any big bumps in it and it can be covered up with gloves or armour or suits without leaving a lump, but if you want a fancy one with a big diamond, I can do that, I mean-" He stops rambling as Natasha leans in and kisses him again.  
"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she mumbles around the kiss.  
She feels him smiling. "'Kay, I'm cool with that," he answers.


End file.
